The Inquisitor's New Armor
by Blanska
Summary: The Inquisitor (one of my OCs, Samahl Lavellan) and Dorian has been together for a pretty long time now, but their days aren't full of sunshine and bunnies (I mean nugs of course). Dorian is still not completely used to this new relationship, and with the busy and quite dangerous life in the Inquisition things can go wrong pretty quickly.


The Inquisitor's new armor is finally fit for his title. After all, he's become one of the most important people in all of Thedas. We can't have him running around forever in dalish rags and old fereldan coats he picked up who knows where. It took Dorian quite a long time, but in the end Lavellan saw reason and agreed to have a new armor made. Dorian knew that his lover wouldn't want anything too flashy, so he made sure that the armor looked good enough for the leader of the Inquisition but at the same time was as comfortable as possible. He wanted Lavellan to feel good in the new armor but he also wanted to protect him somehow. Well, the dalish mage was perfectly capable of protecting himself and all the other companions as well, and the tevinter was a lot better at destroying things than preserving them. So he asked Harritt to make plating for the new gear from the lightest metal he could find. The smith crafted greaves similar to the ones Dorian had - they were smaller and more subtle of course - with the symbol of the Inquisition on it. He also made half-gauntlets that wouldn't get in the way when the Inquisitor was casting spells, and a scaled breastplate that allowed him enough movement but protected his body if one of his barriers would fail. The moment when it was all finally on the Inquisitor himself was breath-taking. Dorian had never seen the dalish mage like that before. He looked powerful. Glorious even. He looked like he could conquer the world on a lazy afternoon. His first thought was to undress him right away and show him just how much he liked the elf's new looks. But instead he just stood there in silence, taking in this rare and precious sight. Even Lavellan himself seemed to like it. It wasn't exactly what he was used to, that's for sure, but even he had to agree that the outfit was as comfortable as it was elegant. The elf didn't strive to surround himself with pretty things, but he appreciated beauty when he saw it. He gave Dorian a soft little kiss on the forehead and teased a bit about how he made him look more grandiose than the Empress of Orlais herself.

"KEEP THEM OFF US!" shouted the tevinter as he undid the last straps of his cape and dove into the icy water.  
He had to gather his thoughts and focus on the task ahead, but just for a moment - which certainly seemed like ages at the time - all he could feel was the burn of cold impatiently biting at his skin. He had no time to waste. He swam towards the elf, grabbed his coat and tried to pull it off him as quickly as possible, but every second lasted a lifetime and Dorian couldn't keep the thought out of his mind that his clumsiness would only further the situation into the inevitable. Finally the coat released its prisoner, and Dorian could move on to the next task, the task of removing the metal plating. He took his short knife and heated it with magic until it glowed with an orange hue, then cut the straps of the elf's greaves with great haste. When one of them was loose, he gave it a small push and let the gaping depth of the lake take possession of it. It was more difficult than he would have liked to keep his blade heated while removing the straps and resist the rising urge to take a breath. The other one of the greaves gave in and floated off into the darkness after its twin. Dorian advanced to the breastplate and because of the sudden movement, holding his breath took a lot more effort, and he had to stop for a moment to gain back control over his body. He could feel that he was quickly running out of time and air now, so he had to push his limits to use every last second given to him. He sawed and tore roughly at the last straps of the breastplate and when his instincts were screaming at him to draw breath, he knew that this might be his last chance to act, and with a hasty move he ripped the piece of armor off the elf and pushed him towards the surface. This was also the moment when Dorian's windpipe filled with freezing water. He instinctively tried to cough it up, but its only result was letting yet more of it into his body - if such thing was even possible. He lost sight of the other man, all he could see was the various shades of the water dancing around him in complete disarray. The darks and lights of the lake didn't make any sense anymore. It was like they lost their grip on reality and had no idea in what direction they ought to be. It seemed to go on like this for hours and he began to wonder if sweet, soothing unconsciousness forgot about him and simply moved along to another lake. Maybe its not so distant cousin, death was the one coming for him. He tried to kick himself forward after that, but he didn't know anymore which way was up. Yet he didn't care. Suddenly, a single question settled in his mind, pushing out and banishing every other thought into the water. "Did Samahl make it?" He thought about it, searched his memories to decide if his efforts were enough to get him to the others. He replayed the scene again and again. He didn't know. And at that moment not knowing was killing him faster than the lack of air.

Out of nowhere strong hands grabbed his body and with a sudden force pulled him out of his watery grave. The cold, dry air, the blinding whiteness of snow and the relentless power of gravity were forces that Dorian barely recognized at first. For long seconds, the entire world was made of nothing else but sharp screams and stabbing pain. As soon as he reached the surface, he went into a spams of choking, an uncontrollable impulse violently squeezing out every drop of water out from his body. Every time he was able to draw breath, the world around him became more real and slowly started to make sense again. One of the first things he noticed was that the ice under his forearms didn't even feel cold anymore. His coughing left him with a gripping pain in his stomach and lungs, but as soon as it allowed him to get up from the ground, Dorian's eyes immediately shifted to the unmoving elf.  
"Is he..." he was trying to ask, but it was difficult to force the words out of his mouth and he ended up coughing again.  
"He's unconscious. No breath." the qunari answered in focused voice, without a single hint of panic.  
"Take off your clothes!" Cassandra told the mage hurriedly, looking up for just a moment before she started pressing at the elf's chest with great force.  
Without hesitation Dorian obeyed the warrior's command and started getting rid of his clothes which now proved to be an exceptionally difficult task. His fingers failed to find their destination, his hands seemed to have forgotten how to work and it was almost impossible not to stare at Lavellan. After he finally managed to get out of his wet clothes without falling, he wrapped his relatively dry cape around himself, and crouched down next to the still motionless elf. The sudden movement caused him to lose his balance for a second and he had to steady himself on the ice before huddling down.  
"Warm his hands and feet!" Cassandra gave him the next instruction, which he followed after a few moments of thoughtless silence. He took the other man's hand in his unsteady, trembling hands - which were at least as cold as the elf's - and held it carefully. The world seemed to narrow down again, and after a few seconds Dorian could feel nothing else but his lover's cold hand and this terrible nausea slowly consuming everything around him.

Lavellan made a sudden movement which brought Dorian back to the real world, quick panic made his breathing heavy once again and he could feel his heart pounding furiously in his throat. Cassandra helped the elf turn around while his body was desperately trying to get rid of all the water in his lungs.  
"Do you have any alcohol?" she asked the others hastily.  
"I got some." Bull replied and quickly passed a small flask to her.  
"Are you utterly mad?" Dorian snapped at her, his voice held back by fear rather than anger "You just brought him back to consciousness and now you intend to do what? Knock him out again and start it all over?"  
"I know what I'm doing, Dorian." the warrior stated and then poured a few tiny drops of the liquid onto Lavellan's lips. She looked up at the mage again, straight into his eyes entrusting him with a new task:  
"I need you to keep him awake. Keep talking to him."  
Dorian took a deep breath, looked at the elf, and for a few seconds he couldn't find any words and just stared helplessly at the barely conscious man. Finally after the first couple of sentences the words started flowing out of him and he could hold onto the familiar patterns of his speech, finding solid ground in their certainty. He didn't have to pay attention to the meaning of his words, and this routine managed to keep him relatively calm and sane. It didn't seem like Lavellan could actually understand him, but he did react to the outside world with slow, disorientated movements, and slight grimaces, most likely caused by the liqueur that Cassandra was rubbing into the elf's chest.

Dorian couldn't determine how much time they had spent in this meditative cycle, almost willing Lavellan back to the world of the living, but eventually the Seeker broke the silence and declared:  
"We must take him back to the camp immediately."  
They divided the elf's things between themselves in a reasonable way, and Dorian wrapped his cape around the other man, before the Bull picked him up and put him on his shoulders.

According to Cassandra the journey to the camp didn't take more than twenty minutes, but somehow to Dorian it seemed like an eternity. He did his best to keep up with the two warriors and not to slow them down if possible, but after a while every single step felt like an endless journey that required inhuman strength to complete. The entirety of this silent march was agony for the tevinter mage. He believed that life could just slip out of him at any second, and after each step he felt more like he would absolutely deserve it. After a while, the Iron Bull announced that the camp wasn't very far, he began to jog at a steady pace, and soon disappeared between the pine trees with Lavellan. Shortly after, what little strength he had seemed to leave the mage rapidly, and when Cassandra leapt to his side to support him, he was already too weak to protest, so he let the warrior drag him to their destination.  
As soon as they arrived, some of the Inquisition scouts gave warm clothes and cool water to Dorian, and seated him near the fire, next to the Inquisitor. Lavellan was wrapped up in several blankets, had a bowl of soup in his hands and he was being interrogated by the Iron Bull.  
"Where do you live?"  
"Inquisition..." the elf replied hesitantly, and then added "Skyhold."  
"Where is Skyhold?"  
"Ferelden. In the mountains."  
"What's the name of the guy next to you?"  
Lavellan glanced over to the mage, then answered innocently:  
"Vhenan?"  
"Well, that answer isn't completely wrong..." Dorian commented with a bittersweet tone to his voice.  
"Right." the Bull smiled for a brief second, then carried on with his interrogation. "If I buy five mugs of beer and drink two of them, how many do I have?"  
This went on for a while until the qunari declared that he was satisfied with Lavellan's responses. One of the scouts insisted that the Inquistor must eat all the soup they had made for him, but they always had to remind him to keep eating because after a while he just stopped and completely forgot about it.

When Lavellan finally finished his soup, his companions sent him and Dorian to one of the tents along with all the blankets and cloaks they could find. The tevinter mage was relieved to see that the other man fell asleep as soon as he lay his head down. Then Dorian turned away from the elf and pulled the blankets tightly around himself. He still shivered sometimes, and that nausea he had felt earlier, lurked around him, threatening to make a return. As he lay there in silence, without anything to do, the world grew still and quiet, and in that stillness it was easy to feel the anger rising inside him, gripping at his chest and making him restless. There were so many memories and thoughts flashing inside his mind, throwing him from one kind of pain to another. Maybe people were right. He taints everything. He finds something beautiful and precious and then he corrupts it. That does sound an awful lot like the not entirely false stereotypes people have about Tevinter. How could he do anything to nudge his country in the right direction if he keeps making the same blasted mistakes again and again? He still wanted to go back. And he knew that Lavellan - being almost as persistent he was as innocent - would refuse to stay behind. But he mustn't let him come along. He had thought about it, or rather dreamed about it on occasions. But this madness already went too far, he was clearly a damaging force to the elf... a bad influence. It was time to face reality and start making the right decisions, however painful they might be. After they have dealt with Corypheus... if they can deal with him, and if Dorian is still alive, he will need to leave the Inquistion immediately, so Lavellan can be finally free from his harmful influence. He only has to make it through these next few months... somehow.

At first, his nagging feeling of guilt made it painful to be together in such a small place with Lavellan, and Dorian wished that the cold and his growing sickness wouldn't keep him in the tent. But now it was getting harder to bear staying in one room with himself and his thoughts. He knew only one cure for that, but sadly getting completely wasted wasn't an option, and he had to endure every moment, every poisonous thought. Dorian rearranged his blankets near his face so that he could have more air. Now a single notion was repeating itself constantly in his mind. The thought that he had harmed the one he loved. He would never do such a thing intentionally. But it didn't matter what he intended to do, the only the thing that counted was all the calamity he had caused. He drew heavy, deep breaths through his mouth. He wanted to leave the tent, leave everything behind and just run into the freezing wilderness, and let the ice and snow devour him. He was a walking disaster. How was he still allowed to walk amongst people? How could he deserve anyone's affection if all that he could give in return was suffering and misery? He coughed a little, it was only then that he noticed how sore his throat was, although the fact that he couldn't breathe through his nostrils bothered him even more. He wanted to punch the ground or set the whole forest on fire, yet he didn't even have the strength to turn back onto his other side. He wanted to pretend that it was all but a dream. That he had never even met the elf. Never talked to him, never got him drunk accidentally, never fought beside him, never admired him, never kissed him, never worried about him. He could feel all his anger and pain slowly turning into tears inside him. He really didn't need this, he could hardly breathe already. Swallowing down his rising emotions made him cough again, much stronger this time. He could feel pain burning through his throat, and the coughing left him with a mild headache that would surely get worse eventually.

"Are you ill?" suddenly he heard the sleepy voice from behind.  
Damn it. He managed to wake him up. He had just decided not to make things any worse for the elf and the first thing he did was to prevent him from getting enough sleep after a near death experience.  
"I'll make you something." Lavellan announced, and jumped up from his bedroll.  
"Don't." Dorian told him a bit more forcefully than he intended. He noticed this harshness immediately and softened his voice. "Please, go back to sleep."  
"I'll be right back." the elf told him in his typical soothing, reassuring tone, and left the tent.  
Dorian fell back into his bedroll with an irritated sigh. He spent a few minutes just lying there, waiting as his anger slowly turned into bitterness. Then he tried to gather his strength and will himself to go after the elf, but it seemed that all this weariness and sickness had defeated him. Before he could muster any strength to finally get up, he heard Lavellan return and felt a faint, cold breeze sneak into the tent with him. Dorian turned around and saw his lover staring at him with the most intense, concerned look he had ever seen.  
"Are you alright?" he asked Dorian in a fearful, but caring voice.  
"Are you quite serious?" the human huffed, like he was going to scold the other man. "How dare you ask me that? It was _you_ who fell into the damned lake, I should be the one asking th-"  
Before he could finish his heated accusations, Lavellan lept to his side and pulled him into a tight embrace.  
"Were you scared?"  
"Of course I was scared..." the tevinter's voice lost its volume all of a sudden.  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, vhenan." the elf said as he pulled the other man just a little bit closer. "But everything's alright now. You saved me. You did good."  
"Yes, I was fucking amazing..." Dorian spat out his sarcastic words so quietly, he could barely hear his own voice.  
"What?" Lavellan quickly released him from the embrace to see the other man's face. "What are you talking about? Cassandra told me how you jumped after me. And saved my life." he narrowed those wondrously green, elven eyes, observing every little change in his lover's expression carefully. "Are you somehow blaming yourself for this?"  
The tevinter stared silently into the air just for a moment, but to Lavellan that pause said more than all his well phrased, carefully dressed up sentences.  
"No no no! You did nothing wrong!"  
"I did plenty wrong!" Dorian tried snap at him - or rather at himself - but his tone betrayed him and shifted into desperate complaining "I could have been faster. I could have... thought of something... or learned some spells from you. And I never should have made you wear that blasted armor in the first place. I don't know! I could have... I should have done something!"  
"No. Look at me! I know you were scared. And confused. And I know you did everything you could."  
"I just... It didn't feel that way. Not in the least."  
"I'm very sorry about what happened to you, Dorian. But I'm alright, now. And thank the Creators, you were there! I don't want to think about what would have happened without you."  
"You're determined to see me cry, aren't you?"  
A soft smile appeared on Lavellan's face, and the familiar shine returned to his eyes, as he squeezed the other man's arm gently in response.  
"I don't suppose you remember much of what happened, then."  
"Not really... I remember being cold. And sitting by the fire... talking to someone?"  
"It seems like you have missed all the fun. And mind you, by fun I mean awful panic and a desperate fight for you life. Good for you."  
"Lay back down!" the elf said as he got up, and stepped to the tent's entrance. "Now I'm really making that potion. A few days and you won't even remember what coughing felt like."


End file.
